


Alcohol

by Jennie_D



Series: Becoming New [7]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Drinking Games, M/M, Post-Episode: s08e06 The Iron Throne, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Vomiting, Wildling Culture & Customs, Wildling Jon Snow, Wildlings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 17:41:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennie_D/pseuds/Jennie_D
Summary: “Who can down their cup the fastest? Come on little crow, I’d love to see you best me.”Jon smiled softly and huffed a quiet laugh. “I already know you’ll win, I fail to see the point of me even trying.”





	Alcohol

The remnants of the Forest Clans had found a place to settle.

Jon knew this wasn’t the end of his journey, knew that soon he and Tormund and many others would make their way further north to the Antler River.

But such concerns were not for tonight. Tonight, they were witness to the founding of a village. Tonight, there would be feasting and celebration and, most of all, drinking.

There was no summer wine here. Tormund told him the Free Folk made excellent mead in kinder years. But the constant run from the ice, from the dead, had not exactly led to time for brewing.

No, tonight they were drinking strong, vile, fermented goat’s milk.

At least, Jon had once found it vile. The first time he’d had it with Ygritte, he’d thrown up all over his boots after one swig. Often on that journey across the Wall, the Free Folk had tried to goad him into trying again. He’d always refused.

Jon did not know exactly when he’d grown used to the taste of fermented milk, used to the laziness and warmth that sank into his bones. He _chose_ to drink it now, welcomed it on cold nights. In fact, Jon reflected with some surprise, he’d had more than a few glasses of it after the Battle of Winterfell, often forgoing the more refined drinks he’d grown up with.

Tormund’s booming laugh at his side brought Jon back to the present. And what a present it was.

A large bonfire burned where they planned to build a longhouse. There was music, dancing, laughter. And Tormund was trying to goad him into some kind of drinking game.

“Who can down their cup the fastest? Come on little crow, I’d love to see you best me.”

Jon smiled softly and huffed a quiet laugh. “I already know you’ll win, I fail to see the point of me even trying.”

Tormund laughed loudly, smile wide.

“Don’t underestimate yourself little crow. I’ve seen how you’ve grown to like the taste of the demon’s milk.”

“Well when you describe it like that, how can I deny you?”

A small excited crowd was gathering. Jon smiled and shook his head, resigned. He might as well. It’s not as if he had to keep up any pretense of kingly dignity now.

To be honest, he found the lack of pressure incredibly freeing.

“Alright then,” Jon said grinning. “Let’s see how I fare against the mighty Tormund Giantsbane.”

Tormund’s smile nearly split his face.

Someone produced a second drinking horn, seemingly from midair. Both Jon’s horn and Tormund’s were generously filled.

Each of them took hold of a drink, locked arms, and prepared to drink from the other’s horn.

Tormund’s eyes were dancing as he stared into Jon’s own. Jon felt intoxicated more by the big man’s pure joy than by any alcohol.

Someone in the crowd was counting down.

“One, two, three...go!”

Jon drank quickly as he could, thick liquid burning his throat.

Tormund, of course, finished first, but Jon was mere moments behind him. Tormund seemed _immensely_ proud of this, clapping him on the back and constantly asking the others if they’d seen how quickly the little crow had downed his drink.

Jon just laughed, leaning into Tormund’s heat.

At one point, the larger man picked him up and spun him around. Once Jon might have felt affronted by the lack of respect, the lack of dignity in such a position. But now, Jon found he didn’t mind in the slightest.

The night got later and later. Bawdy songs were being sung. Tormund loudly led one in the Antler River language, and Jon knew enough of it to join in the last few lines.

_Aningma gul'gulu_  
_ Z'bené shedaku timaimai!_  
_ Hamanyi l'etwazu_

At these last lines, Tormund grinned lasciviously and raised his eyebrows. He looked ridiculous. Jon felt completely swept away.

But after this raucous tune, someone sang something a bit more somber. Jon could only understand snippets, but it seemed to be about the loneliness of the Free Folk, of being hunted and kept from good lands. Of seeing nightmares of ice and death. Of being strong, standing together as a community, despite all the horror they faced.

The room became serious, and Jon almost felt like an intruder. After all, he’d once been one of the men hunting the Free Folk, one of the men keeping them trapped behind the Wall.

He nearly turned to leave. But Tormund placed a strong arm around his shoulders, and whispered, slurred but serious, “You’re with us, little crow. No one doubts that you’re with us.”

When the song finished, people clapped and cheered, and Jon saw someone filling a large drinking horn. Toasts began. People would say what they were thankful for, what they wanted to toast to, then drink and pass the horn on.

Some toasts were short, others long. Some were jokes, others very serious. Some of the Free Folk made toasts to _him_, and Jon found himself blushing. He didn’t deserve such honors.

The horn reached Tormund, and he toasted to those they had lost, to Karsi and Mance and Wun Wun and many others Jon had never met. And to Ygritte. Jon felt a pang deep in his heart.

A cheer went up as Tormund drank, and Jon found himself almost at a loss for words as the horn was passed to him.

There was silence. Waiting.

Jon cleared his throat.

“I never knew,” he began, “I never knew much about the Free Folk when I was a child. We were taught to be afraid of you, taught that the Free Folk would hunt and kill any child who strayed too far from home.”

Still silence. Jon took a breath and continued.

“So I went to the Wall, thinking I’d fight you. But then, then I met you. Then I was stolen by one of your spearwives and brought to a tent where I knelt to Tormund Giantsbane, ‘cause I thought he looked grand as a king.”

There were a few laughs at this, Tormund included.

“I met you, and I found some of the strongest people I’ve ever met. Some of the kindest people I’ve ever met. People who laugh, who take joy wherever they can find it. People who know how to help each other, stand for each other. People who fought the hardest for the living, for the sake of us all.”

Tormund’s eyes were filling with proud tears. Jon stared back into his deep blue eyes as he raised the horn to finish.

“So here’s to the Free Folk. I’m proud to help you rebuild, to make this land strong and joyous once again. And I am proud, every single day to be among you.”

He drank, and there were cheers, people clapping him on the back. Jon passed the horn along, yet Tormund was still loudly asking others if they’d heard the toast, if they’d ever heard a toast so grand. Jon had to put an arm around him to quiet him, to let the next toaster continue.

* * *

Later that night, as Jon stumbled back to the tent he and Tormund shared, he heard some retching in the bushes nearby. He walked over, tall as he could, to investigate. He found the big man himself, crying happily, vomit at his feet.

“Little crow!” Tormund exclaimed, delighted to see Jon. “You were incredible, you are incredible, everyone should see-”

He stopped and gulped.

Jon shook his head fondly.

"What are you doing?"

"Celebrating, little crow, celebrat-"

Jon held Tormund’s hair back as he vomited again. Oddly, Jon found himself smiling.

He cleaned the big man up, and gave him water, and led Tormund back to their warm and comforting bed.

**Author's Note:**

> So I see this as happening sometime in the middle of the previous story in the series. Tormund's still calling him little Crow, but Jon speaks a bit of his language. 
> 
> Translated song is...  
"We travel far and wide,  
Then fornicate our way back home,  
Good friends at our side."
> 
> Again, language and song was made by David Peterson.


End file.
